


Amethyst and Abyss

by piano_cat



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-06 02:56:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20284246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piano_cat/pseuds/piano_cat
Summary: Daenerys unwillingly finds herself sold off to a Khal; a fierce horselord warrior and chieftain of one of the largest Dothraki hordes in Essos - although her betrothed is certainly far from what she had expected.





	Amethyst and Abyss

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!! I would just like to point out a few things; this work is a mix of the events that take place in both the book and the TV series. I have made some major changes to the source material, but I really felt like the story worked better with these altered details. 
> 
> A huge thank you to everyone for taking the time to read and interact with this fic - it really means the world to me!

A warm wind ruffled the gossamer drapes that led out to the white marble balcony. Seagulls squawked high overhead the sandy shore; a pale golden colour from the light of the morning sun. Against the rocky cliffs that stood guard over the beach, the gentle ocean waves lapped and broke; turning into nothing more than a frothy foam the colour of fresh pearls. 

It was this little detail that Daenyra was focusing on when her brother called out for her, startling her out of her thoughts.

"Daenyra!" called Viserys. She quickly snapped her head in the direction of his voice, as a well-trained dog would to its master. Brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, she mentally braced herself for a moment, before she stepped through the drapes back into the bath chamber.

A handmaid was pouring bath salts into the almost-full pool. Daenyra watched as the white crystals fell into the steaming water with a gentle splash, before the maid spun the lid back onto the copper jar. A fleet of handmaidens had brought vat after vat of boiling water up from the kitchens, until the deep pool in the center of the chamber was nearly filled to the brim with clear blue water. The steam filling up the bath chamber only added to her light-headedness, clouding her thoughts as Daeneyra’s brother finally marched in.

“Daenyra!” snapped Viserys. “You insolent little brat!” he screeched, grabbing her arm, violently shaking her smaller body. “Did you not hear me calling for you?!” She winced more at the harsh sound of his voice than his vice-like grip.

“I-I’m sorry, Viserys.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

He glared down at her witheringly, before he dropped her arm and instead grabbed the shoulders of her robe, pulling them down in one rough move to reveal her breasts. Daenyra gasped, but remained still as a statue as he examined her to his liking.

“You have a woman’s body now,” he said, stroking the pink skin of her nipple - giving a hard tug on the sensitive bud when it hardened. She squeaked like a cornered dormouse, and bit her lip to stop herself from crying out. Viserys lifted his gaze to stare her directly in the eye.

“And you are to please the Khal the way a woman would.” 

Dany glanced down reluctantly. “Bu-”

“No buts,” he snapped. “The Khal paid for you, and you are to do _ everything _ that is required of you. Do you understand me?”

She hesitated. He gripped her jaw, forcing her to look up at him.

“You don’t want to wake the dragon, do you?” His voice dripped low with contempt. She shook her head frantically, tears threatening to prick the corners of her eyes.

“Good.” He dropped her jaw casually, and turned and left the bath chamber without so much as a glance back.

As she watched her brother turn and leave, she attempted anything she could to balm the fear that had shocked her nerves and set them alight all at once. Taking a deep breaths, Daennyra turned back to the bath that was now ready for her, watching the wisps of steam slowly rise to the cavernous ceiling. 

Stepping over to the edge of the pool, she let her silken robe drape onto the floor, and she climbed the shallow steps down into the bath. She shivered as the scalding water caressed her thighs, just barely brushing against her lips. Daenyra lowered herself into the water completely, fluttering her eyes closed as she submerged her head before emerging again above the surface, slicking her hair back with both hands. 

The handmaidens rushed forth to attend to Daenyra; one of them rubbing scented oil through the length of her silver hair, while another scrubbed her limbs with a pumice stone. Daenyra winced as she felt the abrasive, jagged edge of the stone against her skin. Once her body was thoroughly buffed, the maid lathered her skin with rose-petal soap, this time with a much gentler touch - for which Daenryra was thoroughly grateful. 

After she had been rinsed clean, she was helped out of the bath, much to her chagrin. Daenyra relished the scalding heat of the bathwater - feeling even more naked as she stood, dripping, on the edge of the bath, where the handmaids rubbed her skin dry with cotton towels. One of the maids, a frail old woman, patted her hair down with a towel, and ran a comb through it until the strands shone with the lustre of molten silver. They massaged a pot of butter-oil into Daenrya’s skin to moisturise it after it had been submerged in the scorching bathwater. Lastly, the maid applied the spiceflower oil, customary of the Dothraki. A dab on the forehead, the collarbone, one on each wrist, a drop on the tip of each breast, one on her lower stomach, and one on her lips, just between her legs.

Then, the handmaids set to getting Daenyra dressed. They pulled a wispy cotton shift over her shoulders, while two maids carried in the dress that had been specially tailored for the occasion. No expense had been spared on the gown; fashioned from lavender silk slashed with plum, with miniscule crystals adorning the neckline, ending in a large amethyst pendant that sat just on top of the breasts. Slipping on the gown, Daenyra peered at her reflection in the ornate golden mirror the maids had also carried in. The gown revealed her bare arms, and was nearly as wispy and sheer as her shift. She shivered as she realised that her nipples were just barely visible through the thin fabric. If you concentrated hard enough, you would notice them. 

Next, a maid laced up Daenyra’s sandals, before slipping a sliver collar around her neck, fashioned into the shape of a dragon that shared Daenyra’s amethyst eyes, its head coming to rest on her collarbone. Finally, a maid - the eldest of them all, placed a delicate silver tiara atop Daenyra’s head.

She turned once more to gaze at herself in the mirror, hardly daring to believe that so much coin had been spent just to clothe _ her. _

“You look beautiful milady,” mumbled a young maid. “Like a princess.”

Daenyra smiled shyly and bowed her head in silent thanks. 

………………………

Dressed and pampered to perfection, Daenyra was escorted by two handmaidens out to the main entrance of Magister Ilyrio’s manse. The marble courtyard boasted a fountain in the center, and was flanked by olive and cherry trees that stood sentinel over the expansive grounds. From the fountain all the way to the gate stretched a long stone path. The clear morning had since burgeoned into a bright and pleasant day; the sky a pale blue dotted with white cotton clouds. It was as if the Gods were playing some cruel jape on Daenyra; the picturesque sky outside could not be more different from the tumultuous ocean that was her mind that morning. 

“She is a vision, Your Grace,” claimed Ilyrio as Daenerya stepped out onto the terrace to join both him and Viserys. “She looks a true Targaryen princess.”

“She’s too skinny,” contradicted her brother, snatching her arm in his hand. “Are you sure she’ll be enough to satisfy the Khal?” He dropped her arm, and Daenerys rubbed the skin that he had been gripping. 

“More than sure, Your Grace, I am certain. The Khal will not know what to do with a beauty as fine as your sweet sister,” mused Ilyrio in a honeyed voice.

“Of course that horselord savage won’t,” muttered Viserys. 

Daenyra glanced uncertainly between her male companions; Viserys – who looked almost kingly clad in an olive green tunic emblazoned with the silver three-headed dragon, and Magister Ilyrio, donning layer upon layer of flame-coloured silk and doused in cinnamon perfume (although neither did much to conceal the rolls of fat that jiggled when he moved, or the rivulets of sweat that had resultantly cropped up). Daenyra measured her words carefully.

“I don’t want to marry the Khal,” she murmured, more to herself than to the others. Viserys snapped his head round to look at her, his eyes burning fire.

“You _ will _marry the Khal, you will do whatever it takes for me to take back my throne. The dragon does not yield to the whims of some scared little girl.”

Daenyra flinched at her brother’s harsh but true words. She knew she had no choice. 

“Now now, princess, “ cooed Ilyrio, in a voice that might be mistaken for sympathy. “Look lively, the Khal must be arriving at any moment now.”

Daenyra took one last look at the withering glare in her brother’s eyes, drew a deep breath, and began to steel herself. The Khal would not see her falter, would not see her fear. She was the blood of the dragon; as much as her brother, and her father, the King, before them. 

The rapid thunder of hoofbeats filled the air; an animalistic fanfare that heralded the arrival of the khalasaar. A small army of armor-clad Unsullied hauled open the massive golden gate enclosing Ilyrio’s grounds, to let the procession through. Daenyra could not see too clearly from where she stood, but she glimpsed a tall figure atop a large red stallion, at the head of the rest of the pack. Despite the pace they were riding at, even the khalasaar took a few moments before they crossed the long stone path and reached the fountain, but even before then Ilyrio was climbing down the steps to welcome his new horde of guests.

“Welcome, welcome great Khal! Welcome mighty Khalasaar, to my humble estate!” boomed Ilyrio, hands outstretched, bowing as low as his heft would allow.

Daenrya stood transfixed, watching the imposing figure atop the red stallion. An ebony braid, longer than any she had ever seen, gold and silver bells adorning the length of it. Eyes blackened by charcoal, arms covered in vicious patterns of blue and brown; Dothraki war paint. A curved blade hilted in bronze, sharp as an executioner’s sword, resting at the hip. Daenyra’s eyes travelled over the rider’s body; round breasts reined in by a woven brown bustier, wide hips boasting blades on either side, slender muscled legs as strong as iron and flexible as rubber.

“That is Khal Draga,” whispered Viserys. “Notice how long her braid is. The Dothraki cut off their braids when they are defeated in combat. Khal Draga has never been defeated.”

“...present to you my ward, sister to the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms, the blood of Aegon the Conqueror and of Old Valyria before him, princess Daenyra of House Targaryen.”

Instinctively, Daenyra found herself descending the marble steps down to the landing - her legs carrying her as if they were separate beings with minds of their own. Fighting to keep herself steady despite her nerves, she picked up two corners of her skirts, and dipped her knees and head into a bow. Ever so slowly, she lifted her head, and blinked up at the towering presence of the Khal, still atop her red stallion. 

It was like looking into the face of a gathering storm. Daenyra balled her hand into a fist to keep herself from looking away. Yet even she, who dared not betray even a hint of weakness, found it difficult to stand resolute when she met the Khal’s implacable brown eyes. Draga fixed her with a steely gaze, taking in the sight of the beautiful but delicate young woman who was to be her betrothed. 

A breeze made its way through the expanse of the grounds, tousling the leaves of the olive trees. Daenyra’s sheer gown swayed softly, and she felt a slight chill, gooseflesh prickling her bare arms. She watched as Draga’s eyes travelled downwards from her own, realising with alarm that her nipples had hardened from the breeze and were now plainly visible through the thin fabric. Her eyes went wide as the moon, and she bit her lip to keep herself from crying out in shock. 

The Khal’s eyes remained fixated on her chest for a moment, before they travelled back up to her face. Daenyra felt afraid to even look at her, but she willed herself to remain calm and return Draga’s feral gaze; almond-shaped eyes narrowed fiercely, sharp as the blades she wore. Daenyra noticed an emotion she couldn’t quite place in those deep brown eyes, and she parted her lips almost as if to say something, to call out to her.

No sooner had she done so did Draga bark an order to her riders, before she spurred her stallion around, riding away in a cloud of dust without so much as a glance back at Daenyra. The rest of the procession quickly followed, leaving a trail of thundering hoofbeats in their wake. The silence that followed was almost deafening.

“Well? Was that it?” scoffed Viserys. 

“I am afraid so, Your Grace,” offered the Magister. “The Dothraki are not a people known for their expressions of emotion.”

“How do we even know she likes her?” Viserys glanced at his sister, scowling.

“Trust in me, Your Grace.” Ilyrio laughed. “If she _ didn’t _like her, we would know.”

……………………

Daenyra trailed behind her brother and the Magister as they strolled leisurely through the lush gardens. The evening had brought with it a welcome breeze, and she had joined Ilyrio and Viserys for their walk following their evening meal. 

“How soon can she get me my army?” questioned Viserys. His hand rested on the hilt of the sword Ilyrio had been kind enough to lend him from his vast armory. Dany thought it looked a little odd on him; a kingly greatsword ill-fitted to his gangly body. 

“Soon, Your Grace,” consoled Ilyrio. “But you must take caution. The Dothraki are unfamiliar with the concept of purchase. Khal Draga will consider your sister a gift, and she will return the favour in her own time. A lesser man may beg the Khal for a favour, but you must never _ expect _anything from the Dothraki.”

“Do you accuse me of being a lesser man?” snarled Viserys, nostrils flaring. Dany gasped nervously behind the pair, who hardly registered her alarm. 

“Never in a thousand years, Your Grace. My sincerest apologies if I have given offense. I merely meant to counsel Your Grace toward the best way I see for you to reclaim your rightful throne. Draga may be our seaworthiest ship through the storm, but safe passage does not mean we shall navigate quickly.”

Viserys snorted and turned his head the other way, seemingly placated. Dany’s shoulders eased. She drew a slow breath to calm herself, closing her eyes. 

When she opened them again, she realised she had fallen behind the other two, who had continued to walk away, engrossed in their own discussion. She caught only snippets as the distance grew between her and the pair.

“...intend to do with her anyway?”

“...cross the Dothraki sea…”

She had half a mind to join them again, but she decided not to take the risk, and instead steal a moment to herself. She peered at them, making sure they had disappeared round the bend of the path, before she turned away again.

The moonlight cast a pale glow over the expansive grounds, bathing the trees and the grass in a strange but beautiful, otherworldly light. Daenrya shivered slightly as she felt the chill in the air, gooseflesh cropping up across her arms. Her thoughts wandered back to what had transpired earlier that day as she looked out across the fields. 

She winced as she recalled the image of the weapons that each rider of the khalasaar wore on their belts, the thunder of hoofbeats like a cavalry of demons, the savage and and guttural Dothraki tongue that sounded so alien to her ears. She remembered the harshness of the Khal’s eyes boring into hers, how vulnerable and exposed she had felt in that moment as she noticed her eyeballing her breasts. 

And she also remembered that strange, unknown look in those deep, deep brown eyes; implacable and fierce and unyielding, yet a complete mystery all the same. 

Dany sighed despondently as she rested her elbows atop the marble railing, leaning her body forward. She glanced up at the moon glowing in all its silver beauty, the only thing that had remained constant in her life since she and Viserys were forced to flee from the house with the red door and the lemon tree outside her window, the only place that she had ever called home. 

_ Home. _The word felt strange and foreign to her, she was only just beginning to get her bearings in this vast city of a manse that she and her brother had resided in for nigh on a whole year, and now she found herself sold off like a broodmare.

She could only hope her buyer would not live up to her name.


End file.
